A Glimpse is Enough
by wutaistars
Summary: Fabian Prewett knows that he doesn't have much time. But there is just one thing he has to know before risking everything for the war. One Shot.


"Fabian! You startled me! How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes. Is my sister here?"

"Oh, for crying out loud. Kitchen's empty; go on, get in there."

* * *

Fabian Prewett hurriedly stepped through the door and into the Burrow. He looked around before gently lowering himself onto a chair, shoulders hunched, hand gripping his wand so tight it seemed to be in danger of snapping in half. Septimus Weasley, who let him in, shook his head.

"All right, boy?"

"I've been better. Why do we have to sneak around like this?"

"You're the one who wanted to keep it under wraps."

"I don't want to _get caught_, Septimus, are you daft? No offense."

The older man shrugged. "We can forget about it, if you want."

Fabian regarded him silently. Septimus seemed comfortable with attention; he stared right back, the corners of his eyes crinkled in quiet humor. It's now or never—if he refused to push through with it, he knew Septimus would never speak of it again. While no one will find out, he would never get the chance to satisfy his curiosity, either. Not ever.

"Let's do this," Fabian sighed. Septimus jumped off his chair like a child and fished for something in his pocket. With a flourish, he pulled out a glass ball on a chain.

"Wait. Shouldn't we go somewhere people don't usually congregate? In case we land on a day where, you know, the house is bursting with Weasleys," Fabian said.

"I know just the place. Hang on to me, would you?" Septimus said. Fabian did as he was told, and the older man promptly Disapparated.

* * *

Fabian yelped; he almost landed on a metal gate spike. They were in front of the Shrieking Shack. He glowered at his traveling companion, who fell quite comfortably on a flowerbed. "You couldn't land us both on a soft spot?" he said, and the older man just gave him a bland smile. He is infuriatingly calm. Always. Gideon would tell him to calm down, but Gideon—

"All right, boy? We can go back anytime," Arthur Weasley's father called out.

"I'm fine. What year is this?"

"Better you don't know."

That's the thing about Unspeakables. They take their job too seriously; it was a minor miracle that Septimus brought him to this year, in the first place. _Whatever this year is,_ Fabian thought.

_You're here for Gideon's memory, Fabian, _he told himself, as he followed Septimus through what looks to be—

"Are we in Hogsmeade?" He said, and Septimus nodded. "Do you have your liquid luck with you? You're the creator of that recipe, right?"

"You ask too many questions, boy," Septimus said.

"Right. No questions."

* * *

They walked down the familiar cobblestone path. It was Christmastime, and the shop windows were gleaming with glass snowflakes and little nutcrackers and sparkly Christmas balls in every color imaginable. Clusters of Hogwarts students were streaming in and out of the shops, and everyone seemed to be in a cheerful mood. It hurt Fabian in a chest a little.

"You know the shop name?"

"Yes. Let's go."

It was their dream; Gideon's, Ambrosius', and his. He wanted to name it The Gaffer, after their initials, but his partners gently shot it down. Ambrosius came up with a better one; he was the one with the best ideas, and it was his idea to name the place—

"He made it. Ambrosius made it."

"Honeydukes? Sounds a bit stand-offish, don't you think?"

"It's perfect, Septimus. Let's go in and introduce ourselves."

"Hold it, boy. Aren't you forgetting something? We go here, peek around for a bit, and leave. No one sees us, we see no one we know, and we never speak of this again. I'm risking my neck for you, and I am asking you to not do anything that would get both of us in trouble."

It was the longest speech he'd heard from Arthur's father. Fabian nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor. Guess he had to be content with looking at the building's facade; at the idea that at least one of them makes it out of the war alive. He started to walk back to the Shrieking Shack when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I hate being a father. It's made me soft," Septimus muttered. He pulled out a flask and handed it to Fabian, who stared stupidly at it.

"Well, go on, boy. Get someone's hair. Make sure they're not the kind to stand out, or we're buggered."

* * *

Mr. Ambrosius Flume and his wife Eleni have had a pleasantly strange afternoon. Their morning was pretty run-of-the-mill; once the clock struck nine, a throng of Hogwarts students flooded their shop, demanding Pumpkin Pasties and Jelly slugs and boxes of Drooble's gum, and Ambrosius was lost in the giving of packs and counting out of change. He enjoyed it.

When he was about to close the shop for lunch, though, in walks a couple of strangers. They seemed incredibly knowledgeable about candy and hung on to everything he said. One thing led to another, and they were inviting the two to lunch in the room above the shop. Ambrosius felt at ease with the two. Especially the young man who kept drinking from a flask. He had dark hair and a forgettable face, but Ambrosius could swear he knew him somewhere, somehow, a lifetime ago.

And when it was time to leave, the young man took a look at him and his wife, tipped his hat and turned away. Definitely like someone he knew. Ambrosius started to run after the pair, but he blinked, and then they were gone.

* * *

**Written for round 5 of Points and Prompts (# 1, 3, 4 8-12).**


End file.
